In which Primo brings home junk from Sly and Doris' house and I am so thrilled (not really)

It is Thanksgiving Day. Primo just got home after a day of driving.

He brought stuff with him. An entire carload of stuff.

So far, I have identified

• human ashes
• five hangers
• three little white bowls
• two walking sticks that Doris got at a 25th anniversary of the Nature Conservancy or something
• huge framed photos of Primo and Nancy as little kids
• boxes and boxes of loose photos
• boxes and boxes of uncategorized financial papers
• a reel to reel tape player
• a coffee maker
• a paper towel stand
• lots of beer from the Beer Tour of 2015
• a box of aluminum foil (good)
• a big box of Cheez-Its (also good)
• did I mention boxes and boxes of stuff?

And - surprise!

A COCKROACH!

I have not even thought about cockroaches since we moved to the frozen north. If you have cockroaches up here, it's because you have a dirty house. If you have cockroaches in Miami or Houston or other places in the south that I have lived, it is because you are in the south. 

Primo is freaking out about the cockroach.

Sly and Doris. The gift that keeps on giving.

(And now we have to take the rental car back to the airport. That's an hour out of my life doing work for the estate. The estate that is not paying Primo. We negotiated that he would charge the estate the mileage to the airport. "I should at least get a few cups of coffee out of this," I argued.)

This is what we ate.